Christmas Hearts (Storm MC Reloaded 2.50)

I motion for Holly to come to me. “Get over here and give me a hug, baby girl. I feel like I haven’t seen you for years.”

She rolls her eyes but does as I say. “I was away for a month, Mum.”

I wrap my arms around her and squeeze tightly, not wanting to let her go. “Yes, and it felt like years to me.”

She extricates herself from my hold. “I hate to tell you but I think I have the travel bug now. I’m already planning my next trip.”

“Oh God, please tell me this one is to a safer destination than where you’ve just been.” After spending the last month worrying not only about King and the club, but also about Holly who was traipsing around countries that any mother would prefer their child not to visit, I’m not sure I can survive that again.

“Relax, Mother, I’m looking at Canada for my next trip.”

Before I can respond, the back door opens and Skylar enters the house with her current boyfriend, Tristan. I wasn’t sure if he was coming because the last time he attended a family gathering, King was an asshole to him. I like the guy and am impressed he’s come back for more.

Skylar’s eyes meet mine and she smiles big. “Your air con is working again!”

I hug her. When I pull away, I smile at Tristan. “Hey, Tristan. Good to see you.” After he returns my greeting, I look back at Skylar, touching her hair. “I love, love, love this cut on you. When did you get it done?” She’s cut her long hair and it now sits just below her ears.

“Last night. I’ve never gone this short before, but this damn heat inspired me.”

“I love it, too,” Zara says.

Skylar takes Tristan’s hand and moves further into the kitchen so she can catch up with Zara and Holly. Travis and Meredith run in to join us, having heard their aunt’s voice. Cade follows shortly after, and suddenly I need some space. There are too many people in here for me.

Leaving them, I make my way to my bedroom at the front of the house. I have a new red dress to wear tonight, and I want to quickly tidy up my hair and face.

I’ve got the dress on, my hair sorted and am halfway through my make-up when I hear the rumble of King’s bike outside. I know it’s his and not anyone else’s because, after eight years of being married to him, I could pick his bike out anywhere.

Hoping the kids haven’t heard him—because I desperately want to steal a few moments alone with him—I quietly let myself out of the house and hurry down the stairs to where he’s parking the bike in the garage.

It’s been just over three weeks since King has been home. We’ve spoken every day, but some of those conversations were rushed because he’s been occupied with club stuff. These three weeks have been the worst of the entire year for me. I don’t know if that’s because things have been more intense with the club, resulting in King feeling distracted and disconnected from us, or whether I’m just so exhausted that I’m not coping as well as I usually do. Either way, I’m glad he’s home now.

Complete overwhelm consumes me as I watch him take his helmet off and turn my way. Relief floods my body and tears threaten. I don’t let them fall, though; that’s the last thing he needs on his plate.

King looks as tired as I feel, and yet the closer I get to him, I see the spark of heat in his eyes. That same heat pools low in my belly.

God, how I love my husband.

Regardless of how little energy we both have left in the tank, I know tonight is going to be spent getting our fill.

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He reaches for me, gripping my arm and pulling me hard against him. No words are exchanged between us; the only sound filling the hot night air is the buzz of cicadas singing their song.

Every ounce of tension in my body falls away as King does the thing he always does when he comes home. His hands and eyes roam over my body. It’s his way of checking no harm has come to me while he’s been away. He does it with the kids too.

When his eyes find mine again, the desire blazing in them pushes me over the edge. I curl my hand around his neck and hook a leg around his. I need to be in his arms with all my limbs wrapped around him.

He knows my needs—we’ve done this dance thousands of times during our marriage—and slides his hand under my ass so he can pull me into his arms.

Our lips crash together and my body hums with the kind of electricity only King creates. His deep growl of satisfaction vibrates through me as he carries me from the garage to the connecting entertainment area and into the bathroom in there.

Kicking the door shut behind him, he drags his mouth from mine and rasps, “Fuck me, I’ve missed you.”

It’s not often King expresses his feelings in this way. I know he misses me, but he rarely tells me.

I reach for his belt the moment he places me on the vanity, my mind warring over whether to have a conversation over him missing me or whether to fuck him. Sex wins—it usually does—and it turns out that while King may have uttered those words, he also has no intention of carrying on a conversation.

His hands are under my dress before I’ve managed to undo his belt.